


Reverie

by everdreamy



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Daydreaming, Emotions, F/M, Feelings, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 02:58:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2175531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everdreamy/pseuds/everdreamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quiet moment with Red, almost a role reversal. Just a quick jot down of an idea that was stuck in my head. Set after S01E22.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reverie

He’d won her back, finally dulled her anger and pulled her back in close with him. Slowly began rebuilding that brittle trust between them - and then, once again, he’d mis-stepped.

She’d stared deep into his eyes tonight. Pushed him, pleaded with him. Trying first to gently entice the answers she needed from him before reverting to her usual forceful demands.

“I just want you to be completely honest with me for once Red! Is that too much to ask? The whole truth - not these little pieces of puzzle you keep feeding me.” She’d pleaded, and pouted, glaring defiantly into his eyes before finally turning her back on him.

It tugged at his very core, denying her. But he couldn’t. Couldn’t tell her, couldn’t endanger her, couldn’t confess and run the risk of losing her all over again. She’d stormed out the door in a hail of sparks, a volatile star exploding in a galaxy devoid of answers.

So mercurial, so capricious - her beauty so alive in those moments that she truly let got. He found it drew him to her even more so, this wildness and danger inside that she kept so carefully hidden from everyone else.

He’d let her go, far better to give her time to work through her anger and cool down. A small fear niggled that this time was worse than before, that she’d unleashed her rage so much quicker, that her eyes had flashed so much darker.

He would be patient, but he knew the truth in his heart. He so dearly wanted her back right now. Back here close to him where he could watch her face, her eyes, the delicious way she followed his every move. Not tonight’s explosive Lizzie, but the delightfully soft and vibrant and perceptive version he so adored.

Standing in shirtsleeves by the flickering glow of the hearth, the spirit glass felt heavy in his hand. Cold and solid, filling his hand with substance and centring him in this moment. Something tangible to grasp on to. He took in the familiar scent of whiskey, the fire’s glow lighting the room with soft shadows. The dimness surrounded him, making the room feel smaller. Tighter. Safer. He turned to stare at the place where she’d stood by the door only minutes earlier, now hidden by the enveloping dark. Her eyes had flashed so defiantly, her angry words driving her pain and frustration and disappointment directly into him.

Dropping his head in defeat, he drew in a slow breath and exhaled heavily. The heat from the fire played across his back, a slightly uncomfortable buzz on his skin. 

His mind wandered back to her face. Her lips. He saw her hands, flung up in exasperation at him. The slight mark from the wedding ring she no longer wore. Her wrist, marred - no, adorned - by the reaching tendrils of her scar.

He raised the glass and sipped. The harshness of the glass rim centring him again in the now and present. Whiskey spilled first cold on his lips and then hot against his tongue. Mulled the flavour in his mouth and then savoured the burn, a small ritual before swallowing.

His mind was elsewhere. Her scar. Their scar. She had no idea.

He closed his eyes and imagined touching it, caressing it. Somehow connecting with her through the mark.

He saw her again as she had stood in the room earlier. In his dream though the rage had burnt quickly out and she had not left him. She stood with tired shoulders slumped, hands held limply at her sides. Depleted by her angry outburst, defeated by recent events, but still standing firm. The familiar world may be crumbling around her, but the steel she carried inside would not let her fall with it. Her jacket had hung open, the soft blue blouse she wore unbuttoned at the neck. It’s gentle drape revealed a tantalising glimpse of decolletage descending into inviting shadows and softness.

He ran his tongue along his lips, tasted whiskey, tasted desire. Another sip, another welcome burn.

Stepping towards his vision in the darkness he imagined reaching out to her. Gently, softly. Taking her right hand in his before she could protest. Her skin so delicate and warm in his careful grasp. Her uncertainty as he raised her hand and ran two fingers lightly across the palm, feeling each of the scar tissue ridges beneath his touch. Even the damaged skin felt soft and smooth.

On bended knees before her he pulls her hand close and presses his lips against the exposed flesh of her wrist in a reverent kiss. Breathing her in, then laying long airy kisses down to her palm. Lips parting as he lightly slides his tongue back along the length of the scar, exploring and experiencing every fascinating angle along the way.

In his imagination he could taste her skin now. Warm. Salty. Hesitant. He could feel her uncertainty at his touch. Her instinct to pull away from him, but a reluctance to break the contact. His shoulders shake, overtaken by a sudden shiver of arousal that settles low and raw inside.

On his knees he looks up, up into her eyes. Surrendered, brought to his knees simply by her presence. Her face is part masked in the gloom, a blush of heat on her cheeks. Those blue blue eyes gaze down and look directly into his being. Dare he hope? Could she look into his eyes and finally recognise his aching need? Could she understand his unbearable thirst for her?

“Please don’t pull away,” he whispers, her hand still tightly grasped in his. “It will break me.”

The vision blurs, her face fading back into the darkness of the room. He feels a wetness on his cheek, a tear sliding, tickling and then dropping from his jaw.

In his mind she doesn’t move away, she doesn’t pull back from him. The moment continues between them, silent, connected, unmoving. He sees the uncertainty lift from her eyes, the uneasiness relax from her stance. Then a breath and a slow stirring as she lifts her free hand. Faltering for a pause, still cautious and unsure but continuing as she reaches to caress his face. Eyes still locked as she traces her fingers lightly from tear-stained cheek, to temple, to crown. The sensation as her hand runs through his close cropped hair is electricity. He shudders, an uncontrolled moan escaping his lips.

Inside he feels as if his chest has sprung open, her touch releasing the years of suppressed longings. He takes a breath as a sob escapes, now entirely raw and vulnerable in her presence. Head bowed in submission, he trembles and sobs as he kneels before her. She doesn’t draw back. Her hand remains cradling his crown, her thumb stroking slow tiny circles against his skull.

Suddenly she breathes in and pulls his head close, pressing his face tight against her belly. His cheek feels rough next to the softness of her blouse, the wetness of his tears soaking through and sticking against her skin. Ragged breaths fill his ears and her scent is everywhere, is everything. She pulls him closer still and he realises he has let go of her hand. Reaching to wrap both arms around her hips, he buries his face in her softness and relinquishes the last of his control. The tears come freely.

As his sobs subside her hands move to his shoulders and he feels her shifting, sinking down in front of him. “Red.” She whispers, a catch in her voice. “Red. Look at me.”

Raising his head he meets her eyes again. Knees touching as they kneel together on the floor, equals in this moment. Her hands feel firm on his shoulders and he rests his hands lightly on her hips, resisting the urge to forcefully pull her back close to him. Her eyes are searching now, unsettled by the strangeness of this role reversal, of seeing him completely unguarded and vulnerable. Undone. He gazes back at her, reverence and adoration painted in the tears across his face. And finally she understands. He sees it as her expression shifts, as her eyes widen in surprise.

“Oh Red” she sighs and leans forward until their foreheads meet. Her arms wrap his shoulders and she holds him there in a protective embrace. Her nose presses in against his as her breath falls warm on his cheek. A slight move of his head and his lips have found hers. Salty and wet with tears, he places a tentative kiss on that enticing mouth before pulling back.

He lets out a ragged sigh and realises he’s been holding his breath. Eyes open to the darkened room, returning from his reverie to the harsh truths of the real world - an angry Lizzie and a lonely night. He sips his drink and shakes his head to clear the last vestiges of the dream.


End file.
